


several people are typing...

by sulfuric



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Idiots in Love, Long-Distance Friendship, M/M, Road Trips, too many discord servers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:00:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21862600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sulfuric/pseuds/sulfuric
Summary: newt and thomas meet on a discord server and promptly fall in love but, shhh, don't tell anyone, it's a secret. one brain cell is passed like a hot potato between minho, teresa, and brenda and somehow, it all turns out okay.
Relationships: Newt/Thomas (Maze Runner)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 173
Collections: Maze Runner Secret Santa 2019





	several people are typing...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tattered_Dreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tattered_Dreams/gifts).



> for my lovely darling rach! it was so much fun being your secret santa, and i hope you enjoy this clusterfuck of a fic. thank you for always being such a great friend and a source of warmth and joy for the fandom! you are so loved by all your tmr fam <3

In hindsight, Newt probably should have listened when Minho said he was going to kidnap him. He, now somewhere in the ballpark of three hours out of state, did not listen. One might think this was a rather foolish oversight on his part. However, two points of consideration:

  1. Minho had a history of making outlandish—and, operating descriptor here: _empty_ —threats that never came to fruition. 
  2. Minho didn’t directly tell _Newt_ that he was going to kidnap him. He just… told Newt and all of their closest friends.



Okay, so maybe this is on him after all. 

Rewind. We’re going to have to set the scene a bit here, just so one doesn’t make any unfair assumptions about Minho’s moral standing or Newt’s intelligence. Otherwise, we might offend certain parties yet to be introduced. Which—we’ll, you’ll see.

There’s debate as to when it started, but if we’re all being completely truthful here, it was over the moment Minho told him what a discord server was.

Newt didn’t stand a chance.

🙟

When Minho was in high school, he didn’t have a lot of friends. Or, more accurately, when Minho was in high _schools_ , he didn’t have _any_ friends. By the time graduation rolled around, he had been enrolled in six different high schools. Not to mention three different middle schools, and ten different elementary schools. 

He was never able to hold down any acquaintances—or God forbid, actual friends—any longer than a couple of weeks past each move. And yes, while he is in that weird spot between generations where he can’t confidently call himself a millennial or a gen Z kid without getting yelled at by _someone_ but he can most definitely spend hours at a time on his phone without blinking an eye, Minho is not someone that can uphold a friendship based solely on text.

At least, that’s what he thought before he signed up for discord.

It was at the insistence of the girl he sat next to in eleventh grade science—a surprise, actually; she wasn’t one of his closest acquaintances through the years by far but she’d actually seemed genuinely upset at the fact his life was being uprooted once again. At that point he’d grown more than used to it and was ready to get on with it, but she’d made him download the app right there in front of her so they could keep in touch. He didn’t understand why they couldn’t just text or use messenger. _You’ll see,_ she said, _it’s way cooler._

The girl, whose name Minho only half shamefully can’t remember, disappeared off the app just shy of a week later. He forgot about the app approximately three minutes after that, and continued on with his life for an entire two months before getting a notification from it one Tuesday afternoon.

Looking back, it was pure luck that his English class was doing _Julius Caesar,_ which he’d already covered nearly to completion at his second last school. Otherwise, he might have made the effort to pay attention to class and not his phone, which had a small robot telling him that he might be interested in joining these servers. 

_Servers._ The term rung a dull, rusted bell in the back of his mind, and he swiped open the notification out of pure lack of anything else to do. His screen filled up with a bunch of icons and words that meant absolutely nothing to him. His thumb hovered over the screen, ready to swipe out of the app, when he sensed a whole lot of movement going on in his peripherals.

“Mr. Park? Care to start off the scene for us?” His teacher’s voice was impatient, as always, maybe a week away from the point in the semester where a scoff would be tacked onto the end of each sentence—this school, compared to his last few, was not one of notable academic excellence. 

Minho fumbled to turn off his phone, setting it face down on his desk. “Yes, sorry, sure.”

When he looked at his phone again at the end of class, he had two hundred unread messages from some random group he’d never heard of. 

🙟

Teresa always had a hard time imagining the kind of person her brother would fall for. She never knew what love looked like on him, so she didn’t know what signs to look for. These were the things she knew: she knew that he was impulsive, deciding how he felt about things quickly and usually without wavering from that first impression. She knew that he preferred to keep things to himself, and that prodding would only make him more of an emotional recluse. And she knew, that above all else, he was a stubborn, oblivious piece of shit.

It probably shouldn’t have been as much of a surprise as it was when he fell for Newt within a week of him joining their discord server. 

Admittedly, she hadn’t thought he was that much more special than anyone else when he first joined. He was added by Minho, who vouched that his roommate would be just the addition they needed. This was the normal chain of things—the server is stable for a while, then someone adds a friend they think would mesh well with the group. Minho, of course, in typical Minho fashion, was the exception to that rule, and somehow managed to accidentally join the server.

At the time, their group was already decently robust after a couple of then-recent additions to round out the veterans. To say that they were full of characters would be a gross understatement—Teresa to this day maintains it was an act of God that Minho didn’t go running for the hills after one afternoon of being part of the server. It was that specific afternoon, actually, that they’d had their very first acid hour, as Jeff had not inaccurately dubbed it. Minho jumped right in:

> **the Glade**
> 
> **#general**
> 
> **min park [12:04pm]**
> 
> i dont know who ANY of you are or what the fuck this is but PLEASE tell me that at least one of you has better opinions abotu music because i swear to god if all of you think one direction got worse after zayn left im going to leave my phone in a urinal because thats where yalls lukewarm piss takes belong
> 
> **justice for love you goodbye [12:05pm]**
> 
> oh i like this one
> 
> who the fuck are you

To say that he fit in perfectly from the minute he appeared would not be an exaggeration in the slightest. So, when Minho told the group that he wanted to add his roommate to the server, nobody thought to consider the possibility that it would drive the group to literal insanity. 

It’s not Newt’s fault. It truly isn’t. Teresa is basing this statement—one she wholeheartedly believes, because she is a good person that assumes the best of people, thank you very much—on the assumption that Newt is just as clueless as Thomas is. And if Minho’s intel is worth anything, then this would be a fair assumption to make. 

And it’s not Thomas’ fault either. If anything, Teresa is happy that he feels comfortable enough with their friends to be so openly affectionate with them. It’s just that in this case, the “affection” that he’s showing “them” actually boils down to what Teresa would call “shameless and overt flirting” with “just Newt”. Yes, quotations and all, because if she brings it up in anything other than the most joking of tones, Thomas will have what Brenda has so lovingly dubbed, an absolute shitfit. Remember the whole stubborn and oblivious thing?

Teresa is tired. 

Minho added Newt to their server in March. Since then—nearly a full seven months—it has been endless @’s, excessive emojis, and matching nicknames out the fucking wazoo. And Teresa, mind you, got the worst of it because not only was she in the server (and two others!) with her brother, she _lived_ with the lovesick idiot, too. It was like an itch, every single conversation somehow having to lead back to Newt. It only got worse as the Summer rolled on and Newt went back to England, because, _Reese, time zones!_ And hello, she was aware of time zones, because both Alby and Clint were in Europe year-round! She’d never seen her brother wake up before noon on vacation, but every day that Summer break saw Thomas out of bed by eight, smiling down at his phone like he had facial paralysis. 

Their parents were used to them talking about their internet friends by that point, but no specifics of their group had ever stuck for them, constant _remind me which one that is again?_ and _oh, he’s the one in Texas? Oh, yes, right, sorry_ whenever Teresa tried to recount a story for them. But lo and behold, by August they were asking! _him!_ When Newt was going to be back in California with Minho.

It must be reiterated: Teresa, is _tired._

> **DM with brend my life, min not park**
> 
> **reese’s pieces [3:43pm]**
> 
> well min my parents know who you are now by association w newt bc tom wont fuKCING SHUT UP ABOUT HIM
> 
> today they asked when yall are gonna be back together in cali for school
> 
> **brend my life [3:43pm]**
> 
> t SHH gally will hear you dont appropriate his Culture yalls are only for him and me
> 
> **reese’s pieces [3:43pm]**
> 
> youre from new mexcio dipshit
> 
> **brend my life [3:44pm]**
> 
> yes but he gave me permission bc im his favourite and also im in The SouthTM
> 
> **reese’s pieces [3:44pm]**
> 
> southwest but okay sweaty
> 
> **min not park [3:44pm]**
> 
> what is this i hear about mrs murphy finally admitting her burning desire for me?
> 
> **reese’s pieces [3:44pm]**
> 
> ugh
> 
> **brend my life [3:44pm]**
> 
> ugh
> 
> **reese’s pieces [3:44pm]**
> 
> no but seriouslt guys
> 
> im gonna lose my goddamn mind thomas is so unbearably in love with newt i cant do this anymore 
> 
> **brend my life [3:45pm]**
> 
> aw baby
> 
> also min when Are you guys back aren’t yall moving into yr apt soon !!
> 
> **reese’s pieces [3:45pm]**
> 
> oh ya tell us abt that
> 
> but first i need to finish complaining
> 
> ahem
> 
> HE NEVER SHUTS UP ABOUT HIM AND LIKE IM GLAD HES ABLE TO TELL ME AND THAT WE’RE PAST THE POINT WHERE HE WAS STILL IN DENIAL BECAUSE THAT GOT OLD REAL QUICK BUT LIKE
> 
> thomas you idiot just TELL HIM, i say
> 
> teresa i can’t, i can’t wreck our friendship if i dont know for sure he likes me back, he says
> 
> LITERALLY IM TELLING YOU HE 100% LIKES YOU BACK, I SAY
> 
> guys no matter what i do or say or evidence i show him he straight up will not even entertain the possibility of there being certainty that newt feels the same way
> 
> and yall KNOW newt feels the same way
> 
> like i dont wanna like violate either of thems trust by tellingthem The Things We Know but we’ve gotten to the point where like i can tell I CAN TELL sometimes he’ll want to say something about newt but then he’ll see that i know hes about to talk about newt and he’ll remember that im going to argue with him about it so he’ll stop himself but it looks like hes in physical pain holding back from talking about him
> 
> im at the end of my wits here guys what the fuck do i do with him
> 
> **min not park [3:47pm]**
> 
> okay first of all 
> 
> aw baby
> 
> second of all
> 
> LMAO ITS THE SAME FUCKING SHIT WITH NEWT OUR BOYS ARE IN LOVE 
> 
> like he wont overtly talk abouit it and i think hes maybe in denial like to himself but he also he thinks its WILDLY UNREALISTIC (his words) that thomas would like him like even a little bit its kind of fucking sad lol
> 
> **brend my life [3:48pm]**
> 
> these idiots!
> 
> guys
> 
> ohhhh guys guys guys
> 
> **reese’s pieces [3:48pm]**
> 
> what
> 
> **min not park [3:48pm]**
> 
> what
> 
> **brend my life [3:48pm]**
> 
> 50 bucks
> 
> when do yall think theyll get their shit together and fess up

🙟

Minho has never lost a bet in his life, and he’s not about to start now. 

The terms were this: they all pool fifty bucks each, and whoever gets closest to predicting when Newt and Thomas finally confess their feelings for one another (without passing the date itself, a zesty raiser of stakes) gets the total $150, and the title of Ultimate Matchmaker.

(Though they each have their own reservations about the latter prize, all believing themselves to be the True Ultimate Matchmaker regardless of bet outcomes—Brenda for creating the server in the first place, Teresa for bringing Thomas into the server, and Minho for bringing Newt into the server.)

The bets were locked in when they were placed at the end of August. Brenda put her money on next March, because Newt’s birthday was that month and she knew from experience that Thomas was a sucker for anniversaries and significant dates, having sent snail mail for each member of the server on the year anniversary of its creation. Teresa, a fool, was already out, having placed her bet on before the semester ended. Perhaps she really believed the nonsense was approaching a breaking point, or maybe she was just reaching her own breaking point. Regardless, it was December and classes were over, so she was out. 

Minho, on the other hand, put his money on the end of the year. 

Minho knows himself. He knows that he’s not above meddling. But he still scrolls all the way back to August in his DM with Teresa and Brenda to make sure they didn’t set any rules against it. And what he found, after three full minutes of dedicated scrolling, was just one rule: no telling Newt or Thomas. Not about the bet, and not about the other’s feelings. They were going to make a rule that they couldn’t tell anyone else in the group, either, but that fell apart pretty quickly when Gally—completely of his own volition, allegedly, and without any influence or intel from Brenda—made a DM for the entire server except for Newt and Thomas and started it off with a simple, elegant _can they just fuck already this is nauseating._

People had taken sides on the bet. In Teresa’s camp—ie, the losers—there was Rachel, Aris, and Clint. Brenda had convinced Gally, Frypan, and Winston, while Minho’s dearly devoted consisted of Alby, Beth, and Jeff. Debates had been heated, especially lately as it got down to the wire on Teresa’s deadline. However, throughout it all, their friends had promised to remain at least somewhat neutral on the main server, at least where Newt and Thomas were concerned.

But Minho is a man of the people, and there’s no official rules against meddling. Not that that’s what he would call his master plan, of course. 

**~~ THE MASTER PLAN ~~**

_(a Minho Park production)_

**Step one:** Tell everyone the plan ahead of time, so as not to draw alarm when it’s underway. Also so that you can use the defense of “well I warned you” if Newt gets especially snippy about it all (He’ll probably get especially snippy about it all).

**Step two:** Pack the car the night before with overnight bags for the two of you, enough clothes to last a week or two. Lots of cash. Ask him to come run some errands with you, and don’t stop driving until you’ve left the state. 

**Step three:** Deliver Newt at Thomas’ doorstep on Christmas day. Maybe put an actual bow on him first. 

**Step four:** Profit. 

🙟

When Newt looks back on the past year of his life, he can pretty clearly see exactly how it led him to be here, in the passenger seat of Minho’s hatchback, riding into the desert.

But he’s gonna ignore that, for a second, or many seconds, because he can extrapolate from this moment and time and predict where this is all leading. He’s not stupid. One might even say he’s _smart._ That’s kind of the whole reason he’s here in America, studying at a fancy school on a fancy scholarship so he can get a fancy degree and become a fancy physicist. But just for a second (or! many seconds!) Newt’s gonna pretend he’s as dumb as he felt when he realized, no less than two and a half hours into “errands” with his darling roommate, that Minho was conning him.

Neither of them acknowledged it. Newt sure as bloody hell wasn’t going to acknowledge it, and he had a feeling that Minho wasn’t going to acknowledge it until Newt did. And Newt was generally the first one to give Minho hell when it came to the ridiculous shit he pulled on a regular basis, but if nothing, the man had tact when it really mattered. 

Which means that this is definitely about what Newt wants to ignore it being about, because Minho is exercising that sparingly used tact, which means he’s being sensitive to Newt’s _feelings,_ which—

Shit. 

If he were someone that regularly looked up the driving distance between San Francisco and New York City, Newt would say they probably have another six or seven days left on the road before they got to their destination. But Newt isn’t someone that regularly does that. He is not! He is not, and it is not the first thing that google autofills when he types in the letter S. 

Absolutely not. 

“How long ‘till we stop for the night?”

Minho looks over, smiles. Newt can’t tell if it’s genuine or just smug. He doesn’t say a thing.

This is going to be a long, long trip.

🙟

> **the Glade**
> 
> **#general**
> 
> ***bass boosted tank engine theme* [8:14pm]**
> 
> So, Minho actually did kidnap me. We’re spending the night at a motel in Bakersfield. 
> 
> **rachel berry kin [9:58pm]**
> 
> I KNWO I SAID I WAS DELETING THIS STUPID APP SO I COULD STUDY FOR EXAMS BUT ARIS JSUT TOLD ME
> 
> IT’S ACTUALLY HAPPENING?? MINHO YOU SON OF A BITCH
> 
> oh wait fuck
> 
> **choo choo motherfuckers [10:00pm]**
> 
> ?????
> 
> also newt lol thats actually kind of awesome hope you guys have a good night
> 
> send me a postcard
> 
> **rachel berry kin [10:01pm]**
> 
> wrong server disregard everything ive ever said

  
  
  


> **OPERATION NEWTMAS**
> 
> **aris [10:02pm]**
> 
> rachel you fucking idiot

🙟

Thomas has always loved Winter. When the temperatures start to drop off in October and the dead leaves get swept into the street by those face-numbing breezes, he can feel his soul rustling itself up inside his chest, bright and at home in the chill. He’s always been the kind to run hot, many a nightmare Summer spent sweating through his shirts. That had to be his least favourite time of year, hands down. Spring was just stupid, full of mud and slush and none of the widely promised showers nor flowers. And Fall? Fall was just a tease.

So, yeah. _Winter._ Thomas can get behind it. He knows he’s in the minority, but in his heart he knows he’s right. There’s just something so… romantic, about it all. He loves the general sense of warmth and rest—even despite the cold—that comes with the end of the year, like a safe landing place to come home to every twelve months. He feels at home in the soft pink glow of the Christmas lights as he walks with snow crunching underfoot.

And okay, yes, it’s probably because he’s never properly celebrated Christmas and feels just a little bit left out, but whatever. Sue him. He is able to look past the mass commercialization because he is a _romantic,_ not because he’s an absolute sucker for marketing. 

(Yes, for the record: he _does_ love those stupid heartfelt Christmas commercials that have no discernible product being sold up until the very end. But he’s not a sucker. He is _not._ )

He loves Winter. He loves the cold. 

But this year, as the holidays draw near—well, the Christian holidays, because his family already did Hanukkah at the start of the month, thank you very much—he finds himself wanting to get away from the cold. 

He knows full well that that is a lie, and that he doesn’t want to get _away_ from the cold so much as he wants to go _towards_ the warmth. Specifically, the west coast. San Francisco. Into the arms (warm arms!) of one Newt Ross. 

Listen—Thomas gave up denying his feelings for Newt a long time ago. Approximately five months ago, which, in Newt Time, is a long time. Newt Time, must you ask, is an absolutely arbitrary measurement that changes based on how Thomas is feeling any given day. But most of the time, Newt Time is Long, because Thomas feels like he’s known him—and had this ridiculous all-consuming crush on him—for his entire life.

Again: a romantic. He wants to cuddle up next to the fire and drink hot chocolate with a boy he’s never met. Sue him! He dares you. No judge is going to tell him anything he doesn’t know. And no one judges better than his sister, who’s been the sole trustee of His Feelings for 1) ever, and 2) more specifically, the past five months. She tells it to him like it is, and this is how it is:

Thomas has some pretty debilitating feelings for Newt, who objectively he is very close friends with. And apparently! Newt has some pretty similar feelings for Thomas! But Thomas! Is not convinced!

He’s pretty sure Teresa is ready to ship him across the country herself. He can tell she’s stressed, so his incessant rambling, complaining, yearning, and pining probably isn’t helping. When exams started she seemed especially short with him, so he’s been making a conscious effort to tone it down in her honour. 

But Christmas is a week away, and okay, _maybe_ he’s a _bit_ of a sucker.

Sue him.

🙟

The second night, they stay in Las Vegas. Minho doesn’t often come off as your average exorbitantly rich California kid—in fact, he flexes his wealth so rarely that Newt usually entirely forgets just how loaded he is. 

Until he does something like get them a room at one of the swankiest hotels on the strip like it’s nothing. 

Newt could have cried—could have _cried_ —at how soft the sheets were when he collapsed onto his bed for the first time. It was like there were one thousand tiny men caressing his cheeks with one thousand tiny feathers. Or puppies. They didn’t even get in late, checking in an hour or so before dinnertime, but Newt was still exhausted. Something that continuously baffled him about Americans was their affinity for driving stupidly long distances for, like, _days_ at a time.

God, they still had so many days on the road. Which means nights in awful motels and lumpy beds. Newt’s not sure if he wants time to shrink or stretch—shrink, and he has to finally confront his feelings in the real world, outside the safe confines of his mind where his compulsions to let everything come spilling out can be kept under a tight, heavy lid; or stretch, and he stays in this weird cross-country limbo with his best friend and pretends not to know exactly where they’re headed. 

_Ugh._ Is there any other option?

“Get up, we’re getting drunk,” Minho tells him five minutes later, and Newt thinks he could marry him right then and there, Elvis and everything. 

The hotel bar is sleek, and the two of them stick out like a laughing crying emoji in a server full of queer people (Aris: _it was_ one time _, guys, it’s not my fault discord is stupid and converts emoticons into poorly chosen emojis all willy nilly_ ). But after a couple of drinks, neither of them care about the suits surrounding them, boisterous and as drunk as they are. At some point the executive decision to hit the casinos is made they’re off into the night like the wholly irresponsible adults they are.

At the very least, they agree to stick together inside the casino.

So naturally, they split up no less than a whole two (2) minutes after they’ve walked through the door. 

Minho goes straight for the card tables, because apparently that is something he knows how to do. The guy’s got a pretty good bluff in terms of the random shit he tells people he can do or has done, but with his parents being the type to host blackjack nights for the other rich people at their work, Newt wouldn’t put it past him to actually have, well, a pretty good bluff.

Newt shops around at the slots for a good twenty minutes or so before deciding that gambling is very boring. He doesn’t know enough about any of the games that require actual thought to feel fiscally responsible about joining, so he ends up just wandering the aisles and observing the organized chaos of it all. He supposes there’s an order to it—there has to be, if people regularly blow their entire life’s savings to be a part of it night in and night out—but he sure as hell can’t figure it out. 

He finds his hands gravitating to his pockets, and then his phone, because this is what he always does. 

A smile he knows Minho would call _dopey_ (his choice adjective after Newt nearly had a stroke when he used _lovestruck_ ) curls up his lips when he sees a notification from Thomas.

> **@thomas**
> 
> AKA choo choo motherfuckers
> 
> **thomas [9:44pm]**
> 
> how’s the trip going?

He slips his phone back into his pocket and makes headway for the edge of the room. He’s not gonna be that idiot smiling down at his phone in the middle of a busy walkway, obliviously infuriating. He won’t let lov— _hm, okay, nope,_ like—change him into someone he would feel like punching if the roles were reversed. 

Satisfied leaning up against a wall, looking like a suave douchebag, he pulls out his phone again and taps out a response with his eyes on the green dot beside Thomas’ name. 

> **Newt [9:49pm]**
> 
> Hi! Not bad actually, currently in a casino
> 
> Lol

The reply is almost immediate, and then, like always, from there they just _go._

> **thomas [9:49pm]**
> 
> omg
> 
> you guys in vegas???
> 
> **Newt [9:49pm]**
> 
> Yep!
> 
> **thomas [9:49pm]**
> 
> thats so cool!!
> 
> whats the craziest thing youve seen so far
> 
> **Newt [9:50pm]**
> 
> Hmmm
> 
> Well
> 
> Minho just won some sort of card game which personally I think is just preposterous given he’s piss drunk
> 
> **thomas [9:51pm]**
> 
> omg!!!!
> 
> go min
> 
> ohhhhh do they have stupid drinks in vegas
> 
> i want a dumb cocktail
> 
> **Newt [9:51pm]**
> 
> Yes!!!!! they’re crazy
> 
> I had one that tasted like cinnamon hearts
> 
> but unlike Minho, I can hold my liqour
> 
> *liquor fuck
> 
> **thomas [9:51pm]**
> 
> sdjfkghds
> 
> sure

The conversation flows almost continuously for another hour, Newt’s phone battery dipping dangerously low. They only break for Thomas to shower, which even that is quick. Newt decides to preserve his precious battery life and switch his attention back to Minho, who has now moved on to what appears to be poker. He pushes a pile of chips to the centre of the table like he’s in some bad movie, grin sharp and smug on his lips. 

He’s halfway through remembering the plot of _Ocean’s Eleven_ when his phone finally buzzes again.

> **thomas [11:12pm]**
> 
> hey sorry im back
> 
> hows minho doing?
> 
> **Newt [11:12pm]**
> 
> Good, I think? He has an unspecified amount of chips
> 
> **thomas [11:12pm]**
> 
> yes thats how poker tends to work
> 
> **Newt [11:12pm]**
> 
> So I’ve heard
> 
> **thomas [11:13pm]**
> 
> has he told you where you guys are going yet?
> 
> **Newt [11:13pm]**
> 
> I haven’t asked 
> 
> I’m
> 
> **thomas [11:15pm]**
> 
> you’re?????
> 
> **Newt [11:15pm]**
> 
> bloody hell I’m typing
> 
> patience, tommy
> 
> **thomas [11:15pm]**
> 
> :(
> 
> **Newt [11:21pm]**
> 
> I haven’t asked because I don’t know if he actually _has_ a destination in mind, y’know? His parents bailed on him for Christmas really last minute and I know he acts like he doesn’t give a shit but I know it gets to him
> 
> So I’m trying to give him the benefit of the doubt and just go along with it all if that’s what he needs right now
> 
> I’m just glad I’m not going home for the holiday so he has someone to spend it with
> 
> Well not glad but
> 
> Ugh you know

Maybe that actually is part of it, but he knows it’s not the main reason. It’s not technically a flat-out lie if he can convince himself, too. And if he types it out then that means it’s true, right? Right?

> **thomas [11:22pm]**
> 
> okay wow it took you six whole minutes to type that
> 
> have smartphones not made it across the pond yet or is this a you problem
> 
> **Newt [11:22pm]**
> 
> Oh my god
> 
> Bitch
> 
> **thomas [11:22pm]**
> 
> love you too<3 my english dinosaur<3
> 
> its okay i know you’re very articulate irl/skype you just cant type for shit
> 
> **Newt [11:22pm]**
> 
> Again, I want to reiterate:
> 
> Bitch
> 
> **thomas [11:22pm]**
> 
> okay but anyway
> 
> yeah that seems like a pretty reasonable minho reaction
> 
> and i know what you mean i think letting him be the one to talk about it is probably a good idea its hard for him 
> 
> just being there is probably the best thing you can do rn
> 
> **Newt [11:23pm]**
> 
> Yeah I think so too
> 
> **thomas [11:23pm]**
> 
> you’re a good friend newt
> 
> take care of our boy
> 
> he’s lucky to have you there

🙟

The next morning, two hours out of Vegas, Minho blows it.

“Do you think Thomas’ll cry when he sees you?”

He doesn’t even process the words coming out of his own mouth before Newt whips his head to look at Minho, small squeak of indignation slipping out.

“Do I think Thomas will _what_ when he _WHAT_?!” 

Minho takes a breath, pulls over to the side of the road because he is a responsible driver, thank you very much, and prepares to deal with the consequences of his actions.

And by “deal with the consequences of his actions”, he really means “let Newt yell at him until he comes to some sort of profound realization all by himself and then take credit for it”. Which is exactly what he does.

“—and I knew, I did. I knew from the moment you asked me to come on an errand run with you, I knew. And I—okay, so maybe I have feelings for him! Maybe it’s obvious to absolutely everyone, him included! And—” He’s at what Minho estimates to be about the halfway point in his monologue when he hops up onto the hood of the car, content to let Newt pace back and force in the dirt in front of him as he gets on with it, getting more and more riled up.

“And you remember! You remember me when we met, Minho. I was never, like, out and proud, or whatever, like you were. I grew up in a shitty town with shitty people and it took me so long to even admit to myself that—which is why—I just don’t want to mess this—bloody hell. And this past year with the server and everyone I feel like I’ve really changed so much but in, like, a good way?”

He trails off then, smiling seemingly to himself. Minho swears he can actually hear things clicking into place in Newt’s brain. 

“Wait, so if we’re—if we’re out here, and we’re doing this, we’re—we’re _doing this._ Then that means…”

Minho tilts his head, raises his eyebrows. 

Newt nods and his smile grows wider, more confident. “Then he likes me too, doesn’t he?”

“Oh, man. You don’t even _know._ ”

🙟

> **OPERATION NEWTMAS**
> 
> **min not park [4:00pm]**
> 
> okay so cat’s out of the bag on my end
> 
> accidentally asked newt if he thought thomas was gonna cry when they met the other day adajsfghs oof
> 
> **reese’s pieces [4:08pm]**
> 
> EXCUSE ME
> 
> RULE VIOLATION
> 
> YOURE OUT BITCH
> 
> **min not park [4:09pm]**
> 
> excuse YOU
> 
> i did not 1) tell newt about the bet 2) tell newt about thomas’ feelings
> 
> he doesnt know about the bet and he came to the conclusion about thomas all by his damn self
> 
> might i remind you homeboy’s a literal genius, like certified
> 
> ALSO YOURE ALREADY OUT YOU HAVE NOTHING TO GAIN FROM ME BEING ELIMINATED FROM THE BET
> 
> BITCH
> 
> **wonston [4:11pm]**
> 
> lol guys chill
> 
> i always forget that newt is like the smartest person on earth
> 
> he must lose brain cells living with you minho
> 
> **reese’s pieces [4:11pm]**
> 
> okay 1) i want you out because you suck 2) bitch
> 
> winston ily
> 
> **min not park [4:12pm]**
> 
> i promise you he loses way more brain cells having a daily stoke over the moles on thomas’ face
> 
> like cassiopeia, he says
> 
> you’d think it would take him less than nine months to connect the dots on thomas with how much time he spends looking at the literal dots but alas
> 
> **rach tsai [4:13pm]**
> 
> AJDHAGSJJDHAHAJJSS
> 
> **beth [4:13pm]**
> 
> AJDHAGSJJDHAHAJJSS
> 
> **brend my life [4:13pm]**
> 
> AJDHAGSJJDHAHAJJSS
> 
> **jeff [4:14pm]**
> 
> AJDHAGSJJDHAHAJJSS
> 
> **reese’s pieces [4:14pm]**
> 
> i think im the one having a stroke now good god
> 
> anyway im losing it today at lunch tom told me he wanted to surprise newt in cali
> 
> i was like HONEY youve got a big storm comin
> 
> **frying the pans [4:14pm]**
> 
> OH MY GOD
> 
> what did he say what did YOU say
> 
> **reese’s pieces [4:15pm]**
> 
> okay so
> 
> **_reese’s pieces is typing..._ **

🙟

Thomas finishes exams on the very last day, which is stupid, because he thinks it is stupid so therefore it is. There are only four days left until Christmas, which really shouldn’t matter because Thomas’ family doesn’t even _do_ Christmas, but still. It’s the principle of the thing. 

Teresa takes him out to lunch to celebrate, her having finished a full ten days earlier with all three of her exams taking place over the span of two days. It’s genuinely a nice catch-up, the two of them having essentially quarantined themselves in quick succession to study for their respective exams. But it’s only a matter of time until the conversation circles back to Thomas’ favourite topic, like a reflex. 

“Yeah, Gally was mentioning he and Bren wanted to drive up to California next Summer to do a, like, meetup kind of thing with Newt and Minho.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“And, like. I don’t know. Maybe—it’d be cool if we made it, like, a thing? We could fly out too, get an airbnb for the four of us and just all spend time together in the city.”

Teresa narrows her eyes. “And would you finally tell Newt how you feel or are you guys gonna make us endure your stupid will-they-won’t-they flirting in _person_?”

Thomas chews thoughtfully, avoiding her gaze. He knows it’s playful, but her question has him actually thinking.

“Yeah, I would tell him,” he says honestly.

She raises her eyebrows, pursing her lips slightly. “Oh?”

“I think—I mean, I just. I want to do something big, y’know? When I do. Tell him, I mean. Like _show_ him how I feel, because with Newt, I don’t think—he might have a hard time believing it if I’m just _telling_ him.”

Teresa nods. “Mmm.”

“You know, like a grand gesture sort of thing.”

“ _Mmm._ ” Her lips are pressed together in a thin line, hands clasped tightly in her lap. 

“Yeah. I don’t know. He’s been kinda quiet, these past few days. Minho too—probably just the trip and everything, but still.”

Teresa sips her iced tea loudly. “Oh, yeah, I mean I’m sure they’re just. Doing road trip things.”

“I wonder where they are—Newt said Minho hadn’t told him where they were going. Weird, right?”

“Mmm.”

🙟

> **the Glade**
> 
> **#general**
> 
> **choo choo motherfuckers [8:17pm]**
> 
> I LVOE YOU GUSY QALL SO MUCH
> 
> I JUST WANT TO HUG EVERYONE OF YOU YOURE AL LSO COOL
> 
> yes its chritsmas eve yes im jewish yes im drunk anyway WE EXIST
> 
> **coffee crisp is nasty fuck all of you [8:20pm]**
> 
> hi eyah our parnets are makign us watch adam sandler movies so we made a drinking game and are probably going to die of alhoclo poisoning it ws nice knowing you all
> 
> **choo choo motherfuckers [8:21pm]**
> 
> adam sandler is a bottom i knwo this in my heart i do
> 
> **choo choo motherfuckers [8:39pm]**
> 
> WHERE THE FUCK ARE YAL L I MSIS YOU GUSY COME TLAK TO US
> 
> wher
> 
> wheeerreee
> 
> :(

🙟

Minho cannot account for the rest of the discord server, but at the time of Thomas’ insistent questioning, he and Newt were, in fact, holed up in a motel just an hour and forty minutes away from the Murphy house, if Google Maps was feeling accurate that night. Either there was something off with the water (New Jersey, son of a bitch) or they were just delirious from driving for seven days straight, because there was an absolutely manic, sort of giddy energy to that room as they prepared for the still impossible-seeming reality of their plan for tomorrow. 

Newt is nervous as shit, but somehow he knows that no matter what happens, everything is going to be okay. Because he likes Thomas, and Thomas likes him. They’ll figure out the rest as they go. 

Neither of them can sleep, lying awake in the dark. Newt feels especially cocky, just for a moment, and allows himself to be a bit of a dick, just for a second.

“So since we’re on a roll with working out repressed feelings and all that, wanna hit up El Paso on the way back?”

Even if he looked over, Newt’s pretty sure he couldn’t see Minho’s face flush in the dark. But the sharp inhale of breath is enough to give him away.

Newt laughs softly to himself. Maybe he’s bluffing again, or maybe he really thought he had Newt fooled.

Then again, Newt thought he’d had himself fooled, and look at him now.

He sleeps straight through the night. 

🙟

> **DM with reese’s pieces, brend my life**
> 
> **Newt [12:08am]**
> 
> Hello. I’ve been made aware that the two of you are also responsible for the past week’s nonsense.
> 
> 1) Thank you, and 2) reckon we could make it happen again?
> 
> **brend my life [12:10am]**
> 
> :eyes:
> 
> **reese’s pieces [12:11am]**
> 
> what do you have in mind?
> 
> **Newt [12:12am]**
> 
> How much intel do the two of you have on Gally’s current emotional attachments?
> 
> **brend my life [12:12am]**
> 
> OH
> 
> _HONEY_

🙟

> **OPERATION NEWTMAS**
> 
> **min not park [10:04am]**
> 
> ALRIGHT FUCKERS TODAY’S THE DAY
> 
> **al bee [10:06am]**
> 
> !!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> GOOD LUCK
> 
> **rach tsai [10:06am]**
> 
> AHHHHHHHHHHFDNG KLSFAKL G 
> 
> **aris [10:06am]**
> 
> RT
> 
> **wonston [10:06am]**
> 
> DSJFKG
> 
> DSFNKDLSFGV D
> 
> GNDFSKLFNV KRSJTHG
> 
> FVGSERDG
> 
> **aris [10:06am]**
> 
> RT BUT LOUDER
> 
> **captain gally [10:07am]**
> 
> love is real
> 
> is it ridiculous that im like so fucking excited
> 
> **min not park [10:07am]**
> 
> aw
> 
> so t and i are both gonna film it, she’ll be behind the door w thomas and ill be on the porch w newt  
> guys im shaking this is ridiculosu
> 
> I’m the one that should be shaking
> 
> that was newt he says hi hes very excited 
> 
> **reese’s pieces [10:10am]**
> 
> gay
> 
> we are ready for you bb!!!!
> 
> tom has NO IDEA
> 
> he is hungover so prepare lmao
> 
> i am,,,,,,,,,,, also hungover
> 
> **min not park [10:11am]**
> 
> perfect
> 
> see u in 20
> 
> oh and get ready to pay up

🙟

Thomas, upon awakening from his slumber, hates Adam Sandler approximately one million times more than he hated Adam Sandler the night before. He is not, as they say, feeling fresh.

He gets up at the much too early hour of 10:00am, thanks to the obnoxious and surely malicious banging of pots and pans from the kitchen. Grumbling his way downstairs, he finds his entire family just chipper as the fucking birds, cooking and reading and being generally pleasant, like normal people. Thomas does not feel like normal people. He feels like crawling back into bed and staying there for the next few years of his life. 

Teresa clearly senses this, because she decides that she needs to oppress him in that exact moment by grabbing his wrist and dragging him to sit beside him at the island. And then, like the demon that’s so clearly possessed—oh, wait, no. She’s pushing a mug of coffee in his face, scent wafting up his nostrils like an IV of Real Human Person Juice directly to his brain. Maybe Teresa deserves rights after all. 

His parents are sharing knowing smiles at the stove, eggs sizzing in the pans in front of them. Thomas doesn’t have enough caffeine in his body to know what’s going on just yet, but he has enough to know that whatever it is, he doesn’t like it. Once he’s had a couple of sips, Teresa gives him a skeptical once over.

“You know, you should really wear your nicer pajamas. It’s Christmas.”

“Reese, we don’t even celebrate Christmas.”

“You’re wearing _floods._ ” She nods down to his exposed ankles. “Go. Change.”

Thomas just scoffs and rolls his eyes, but then his mom turns to face them with a sigh. “Thomas, darling. Your sister’s right. You look…” she doesn’t finish her sentence, face contorting into some sort of pitying look.

He throws his head back, groaning. “ _Fiiiiiine,_ ” he whines, because he is a six year old. He gets up and trudges up the stairs, mumbling to himself about the importance of _comfort_ and _sentimental value._

He puts on his Nice Pajamas and fluffs up his hair a bit, frowning at the bags under his eyes. He needs water, not coffee.

Just as he decides to check his phone, the doorbell rings. Odd, but not his problem. 

A moment later: his problem.

“Tom, honey, will you get that?” His mom calls up from the kitchen and he resists the urge to groan again. A headache blossoms over his right temple. 

“Yeah, I got it,” he calls back, knees cracking as he gets up for another trip down the stairs. His family titters about in the kitchen, clearly up to much more important business than tending to rogue doorbell ringers.

 _Whatever._ After this he’d finish his coffee, go back to bed, then maybe check in on Newt and the server to wish them all a merry Christmas. He could manage that. 

He gets to the door, frosted windows obscuring whoever lies in wait for him on the porch. He briefly wonders if he can still get away with the _sorry, I’m not eighteen_ thing he pulled on all the Christians that liked to spend time going door to door in his decidedly Jewish neighbourhood. _Jesus. No thanks! No thank you, Jesus. None for me, goodbye._

There are footsteps in the hallway behind him. He takes a breath, bracing himself for the cold, and opens the door.

🙟

Standing on Thomas’ porch, grocery store bouquet in hand. Newt suddenly feels like an idiot. His shirt is definitely not clean, and he’s been wearing the same pair of pants for at least three days, now. All of his confidence, his clarity, from the night before has drained away, leaving him wondering what in the fresh fuck he’s doing here. He’s standing many, many miles away from either of the two places he calls home, at the doorstep of a boy he’s never met that his brain took one look at nearly a year ago and said, _oh, yes, that one._ If Newt’s being completely rational here—Minho’s well-meaning delusions aside—Thomas hasn’t given him any concrete evidence that he feels the same way about Newt as Newt does about him. And yet, here he is. On the other side of the country, simply because he was compelled to be there. 

Well, if we’re being completely accurate, it was because _Minho_ was compelled, but—

That’s beside the point, because Newt is standing and the bell has been rung and there are sounds coming from inside the house, sounds that are getting louder, and this is it. This is the point of no return. There are no more highway exits or freeway ramps, no more motels or diners. Time has come to a standstill, thrusting Newt into this moment and this moment alone, the only option to move forward, _now_. There is no equation, no trick of time dilation he could possibly manipulate to get him out of it. 

He’s ready. He really is.

The lock clicks and—and maybe he’s not ready, but he’s going to do it anyway. 

Thomas is, actually, a good deal shorter than Newt thought he was going to be. It’s a funny thing to notice, before everything else—before the mussed up hair and the slight shiver in against the cold and the brightness in his eyes and the absolutely dazed look on his face—but he notices it all the same, the detail bringing a smile to his face as he realizes with absolute and utter certainty that Thomas is _real_ and he is _here._

Then there is a pair of arms being thrown around him and he is stumbling back and he hears the sound of laughter, clear and high like a bell, an odd sort of familiar that he realizes is because he’s only ever heard it tinny and distorted, warped twice over by bad speakers. But no—this is real. He’s suddenly hit with it all all over again, a tidal wave of Thomas as he clings on for dear life, plastic wrapping of the flowers crinkling over Thomas’ back. 

At some point they pull away from each other, the loss of warmth like a part of him being ripped away. A surge of desire rips through his chest and Newt knows that he is truly and fully screwed, and has been from the moment he downloaded the discord app. There is some cooing and awwing in the background, but it doesn’t reach Newt’s ears because he is staring into Thomas’ eyes, which are slowing falling shut, and, oh, their faces are really close together, huh? And everything is—

“ _I didn’t brush my teeth!_ ” Thomas yelps, suddenly jumping back as if Newt was a live wire. He stumbles back into the house, face like a cartoon character. Newt finally tunes into the rest of the world around him, Minho and Teresa cackling while holding up their phones, recording every glorious moment. 

Thomas looks as if he’s making a beeline for the stairs, but then he whips around and points an accusatory finger at his sister. “You!” he yells, chest heaving. He turns to Minho next, same incredulous tone. “You!” But then, softer, “You!” and he brushes past Teresa to wrap Minho in a tight hug. It’s at this point that Newt notices that everyone on the scene is crying in one way or another, even Thomas and Teresa’s parents lingering further back in the hall. Thomas gives Newt one last squeeze before he sprints upstairs without another word.

Newt turns to Teresa, melts a bit. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

Newt and Minho are sitting in the kitchen chatting with Teresa and her parents five minutes later when Thomas yells from upstairs with absolutely no subtlety, “I’m taking Newt on a tour of the house we’re starting upstairs!”

  
  


> **the Glade**
> 
> **#face-reveals**
> 
> **choo choo motherfuckers [1:26pm]**
> 
> hey guys
> 
> so
> 
> image220348.jpg
> 
> **_several people are typing..._ **

**Author's Note:**

> yay! drop your thoughts in the comments?


End file.
